Malik's Codex
by noyne
Summary: It is a pity that only Altair's Codex survived as it could spare the future generations of assassins countles humiliations  among other things . Drabbles on why does the assassins and alcohol do not mix. Crack, parody and T-rated just to be safe
1. In the beginning there was A book

Disclamer: Assassin's Creed and all associated characters belong to Ubisoft.

Malik made sure to carefully readjust Altair's Codex to several changes. Those changes had to be done as the novice, in his ignorance, has forgotten to mention something of extreme importance for the continuous existence of the brotherhood. Malik recreated the whole hierarchy of the codex by adding just one, through often repeated, paraphrased and reiterated rule:

" No member of the Assassin's Order shall ever drink alcoholic beverages OF ANY KIND", after some consideration he decided to add "or other substances of similar effect".

Malik genuinely believed that the capitalisation was needed. After all one did not need The Apple and ability to see the future to figure out that allowing a bunch of inebriated men and women armed up to their teeth to run amuck in the city was NOT a good idea. Even if they were highly skilled in the art of wielding sharp and potentially deadly weapons. Especially if they were highly skilled in the art of wielding sharp and potentially deadly weapons.

He still had nightmares after that one time, when Altair got drunk and proceeded to run around the city with his skin painted black wearing only a white loincloth and a black cape with cat-ears like trinkets attached to its hood, screaming "Ijm e Betmen" on the top of his lungs. Until that day Malik never had realised that it was possible for him to pity the Templars. Come to think of it, he still had no idea why Kadar had blushed so profoundly every time someone had mentioned that incident. His brother and he were both in a group dispatched to deal with the wayward assassin, however Malik himself was not present as Kadar managed to subdue him, having fallen for one of earlier traps that Altair laid to slow down his pursuers. The fact that he had to share _his_ tar pit with several feather-covered Templars only added an insult to an injury. So no. No alcohol for assassins.

Had Malik's revision survived, the future generations might have been spared many potentially damaging and positively humiliating situations.

A/N: in case anyone was wondering "Ijm e Betmen" is a poor phonetical transcription of "I'm a Batman". Any suggestions and constructive criticism are welcome.


	2. In good company

In good company

The Auditore family execution was proceeding as planned and was raising such a warm feeling in the chests of the Templars present in the square. Federico stood on the gallows platform next to his father as Alberto read their charges, when a sudden thought hit him. It hit him perhaps a bit tad too strong.

-Hmm, This surely isn't happening because De Pazzi found out that I have deflowered his son, is it? -he wondered aloud. Somewhere in the crowd Ezio felt like hitting his head into the nearest wall. He just knew this wasn't going to end up prettily. Bringing such things into their father attention never did.

-Alberto, in memory of our past friendship, could you cover Pettruchio's ears for a moment? - the Auditore patriarch's voice was deceptively calm as the traitor fulfilled his last wish. -Have you lost your mind? - Giovanni bellowed making both of his sons cringe at the volume- What the hell were you thinking Federico?

It was pure luck on his son's side that the nook was too short to allow Giovanni to get his hands on the foolish scion, or God help him he would wrung that idiot son's neck.

-I didn't know it was him when I picked him around the block padre- yelped Federico edging away from his father trying to widen the distance between the two of them.

-How the hell could you not know?

-I was drunk- Giovanni let out an impressive string of curses that could make any gutter rat blush. -I just wanted to know where Vieri bought his dress, so I could commission one for Claudia.

-Oh so now it is Vieri?- snarled Auditore patriarch.

-Would you prefer I called him Madame Scarlett?- Federico apparently found enough of a backbone to bite back- Since this is how he introduced himself!

-And you didn't notice any equipment deficiency with that _Madame_ of yours?-sneered his father

-Well, it is not as if I could see anything through all of those underskirts. And in case you have forgotten I was drop dead drunk!

-Apparently you weren't drunk enough if you could participate in such stannous activity as deflowering!

As Giovanni was raging, somewhere in the back of his mind Federico knew that entertaining that dare proposed by La Volpe while he was trying to forget that Scarlett mess was a bad idea. Seriously, just why did he agree to divulge this titbit of information in case of his impending demise?

-Was it the dress Rico? The one you gave Claudia for her birthday? - Pettruchio innocent inquiry raised a new string of curses from his father. This time directed at Alberto for failing even such a simple task as protecting the delicate sensibilities of an innocent child.

While the crowd gathered on the square watched the spectacle with renewed curiosity the executioner proceeded to dismantle the mechanism. This wasn't his first execution and he knew that there was no way that he could carry it on without being mobbed by the crowd. As the guards escorted him back to their cell, Federico groaned and gazed longingly at the gallows. That would be at least fast and nearly painless death. A preferable alternative to anything that Claudia will have in store for him once she catches a wind of this. Damn. He was soo going to blame Ezio for corrupting their little brother. One thing was sure: If Federico was going down, he sure as hell wasn't going alone.


	3. Of glorious battle wounds

Disclamer: Assassin's Creed and all associated characters belong to Ubisoft.

Of glorious battle wounds

Mario's wife / rolling-pin

Everybody, and their dog, knew that Mario could not see with his left eye. That was a common knowledge. The mystery eluding everyone was: how exactly he got blinded. Of course some assumed that he had been wounded while fending off some terrible foe. Others claimed that he acquired this wound while he was fulfilling the duty of his heritage. A few mumbled something about jealous husband, but no one paid heed to their words. The general consensus was that Mario had acquired his wound while performing a truly magnificent feat of some kind.

The gash that had deprived Mario of a part of his sight was created in much more prosaic, and not just a bit humiliating situation. There was a solid reason to why Mario's late wife had banned him from alcohol, and oddly enough from the kitchen. One may assume that it was due to alcohol inducted bouts of violence. No thing more untrue. Mario was not one of those violent drunks, who exchanged their brain for fists after first sip of vine. The lord on Monteriggioni was in fact a very helpful drunk, even if not exactly harmless. He was a living advertisement for the theory that well meaning and good intentions could, and in his case usually did, bring more harm than good. There were several major and more than a handful of minor incidents, that all of the inhabitants of Monteriggioni consequently denied.

Incidents? What incidents? They did not happened. Never.

No amount of property damage could convince them differently.

It was only after the onion incident that the lady on Monteriggioni had finally put her foot in. After all, what sane woman would remain unaffected if her husband had tried to chop an onion by throwing knives at it. Never mind the fact that he had somehow managed to get one to ricochet straight at him. As the word of lady Auditore was the law, Mario had been banned from both: her kitchen and alcohol under the threat of informing whole Italy just how exactly did he acquire that scar. Being the resourceful woman that she was she also managed to get the whole city to back her up. After all their lord was a menace when he could see straight, allowed to run freely half-blind he would be pure terror.


	4. Birds Have Wings, an adaptation

Disclamer: Assassin's Creed and all associated characters belong to Ubisoft.

I'm a Bird

Malfatto/floor – tribute to Novoux's _Birds Have Wings_

As the sun above the eternal city was slowly falling, Ezio and his apprentices stood on a rooftop directly across a certain tavern. They were watching a large crowd made up mostly of guards, both Borgia's and Templar's. The tavern wasn't christened as a "Black Cross" for nothing after all.

-And this, my dear apprentices…- started Ezio gesturing vaguely toward the cause of whole commotion…

-I can fly!

-is why …–he stoically continued in spite of Malfatto's rather loud proclamations.

-I'm a bird motherfucker! – continued the doctor

-we DO NOT drink outside of our base…- down the street Malfatto's break had left quite a hole, while its owner started, or at least tried, to climb back onto the tavern's roof –where is at least one person, preferably more skilled than yourselves to stop you from such idiocies.

On the opposite roof the good doctor braced himself for the next jump, taking a larger run-up than previously and frantically flapping his arms.

-Least you make a show out of yourselves.- Maestro continued unfazed as Malfatto performed yet another leap of failure. This time managing to aim directly into Ezio's favourite stack of hay. –Yet better– he amended –do not drink at all.- he really hated that he would have to find another stash for any captured weapons and its previous owners.

They lingered for a moment allowing the lesson to sunk into novices' heads. With one last glance toward the tavern Ezio led his party to the Borgia Pallazzo. After all the night was still young. There were Templars to be killed, Apples to be stolen, and so on. He will laugh his ass off later, with La Volpe, Nicolo and no impressionable novices in vicinity. And let us not forget the ladies of the evening: jugs of quality liquor straight from Cesare's best cellar. After all as La Volpe said: taken from enemy tastes so much better.


	5. When Lucy is gone

healthy lifestyle

Desmond/cherry

In spite of, or maybe due to his job Desmond rarely got drunk. Well at least drunk enough to loose any semblance of control. Even more so since the whole Abstergo disaster. The blame for that could be equally divided between tight schedule and Lucy's retentiveness. Yet there he was. Mixing high spirited drinks for Rebecca and himself while Lucy was out in the town, getting some supplies for Animus. Apparently the infernal machine was susceptible to such trivial things as overheating. And -surprise, surprise- it broke down, causing the whole team to go into stand-by mode at least until the necessary parts were obtained. Shaun, being the bloody Hastings that he was, still managed to blame Desmond for it.

All of this, after several lifetimes worth of active life, left Desmond to sit on his twiddled thumbs until the Animus was fixed. Adding an equally bored Rebecca to the equation did not help the matter. Especially since the baby deprived engineer was pissed at the whole world, courtesy of the ban on Animus-tinkering that Lucy had, oh so graciously, declared. As it usually goes, one thing led to another and somewhere along the way one of them (their name shall remain unmentioned to protect them from Lucy's wrath) got this splendid idea of utilising Desmond's bartending prowess. One of the highlights of the day was the discovery of Rebecca's little secret. Apparently she had some kind of historic-garment fetish. She had damn near begged to have him outfitted in Altair's master grab. Desmond, however, categorically refused to be stuffed into anything, that even remotely resembled a dress. Never mind the fact, that back then it was considered a male grab. Desmond was a firm believer that in XXI century the only robe that a male could be caught in was a bathrobe.

-Pleease Desmond.- she whined

-I said "NO". I mean it Becca- Desmond answered with a sternness that only a drunk can master.

-Pretty please. With a cherry on the top. – she slurred

-Unless it's Shaun's, I'm not interested – he gulped down his tequila, not bothering to spice it with salt.

-Oki-doki – chirped the engineer as she swung straight from the bottle, wobbling precariously towards the door.

The next day Desmond got his ears chewed off till kingdom's come courtesy of enraged Lucy. His already dreadful hangover got progressively worse as she ranted on the safety procedures of handling an assassin's equipment, especially one as ancient as Altair's armour, switching from time to time to inappropriate behaviour in work-environment. Rebecca was spared the sermon as she was preparing her baby for their next session.

-Cheer up Desmond – she peered from under the Animus once Lucy was out of hearing range. – At least you managed to remove that stick from Shaun's ass. It gotta count for something.

Apparently it counted for an encore later that evening.


End file.
